


Acceptance

by tiger_moran



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes (Downey films), Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Acceptance, Asexual Character, Asexuality, Biphobia, Bisexual Character, Bisexuality, Fluff, Kissing, Love, M/M, Victorian Homophobia, references to biphobia, references to past abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-09
Updated: 2014-08-09
Packaged: 2018-02-12 10:51:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2107077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tiger_moran/pseuds/tiger_moran
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Moran may not fully understand Moriarty's sexuality but he does accept it - just as Moriarty accepts Moran's sexuality - in part perhaps because of his own past.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Acceptance

   “Haven’t you ever just looked at someone and just… desired them physically?”

    “Never.”

    “Truly?” Moran eyes Moriarty questioningly, slightly wide-eyed, from his position seated atop him, straddling the professor’s hips. Seemingly it is such a queer idea to him, one that to such a virile individual is almost completely alien - that a human being can go about their day to day lives and never experience such desires that he largely assumed were an intrinsic part of being human.

    “Truly.” Moriarty smiles. “What?” he queries, still smiling, when Moran narrows his eyes and glances away, appearing in deep contemplation. “Are you going to tell me that this is impossible? That it is utterly unthinkable that a grown man cannot have such yearnings? Or that perhaps I am simply… _broken_?”

    “No sir, I’d not do that.” Moran looks back at him sharply, steadying himself with his hands on the professor’s shoulders. “I can’t say as I entirely understand it, but there’s a lot I don’t understand about you – why you care for those wretched pigeons so much for one. That don’t mean I want to somehow deny what’s a part of you, or insult you for it.” He glances away again, though a shift in his focus suggests that he is thinking now of some event from his own past. “My father…” His fingers clench into the fabric of the professor’s nightshirt momentarily. “He…” He swallows thickly.

    “Sebastian?” Moriarty puts his hands to Moran’s sides, gently and soothingly stroking him as Moran struggles to put memories he has long preferred to keep hidden into words. It remains a rare thing for Moran to choose to speak of his past and the professor would not wish to discourage him when he does decide to open up a little.

    “I reckon if I’d have got all the maids in the family way he’d have likely congratulated me on a job well done, I might have made him _proud_ , because… well it’s _normal_ , ain’t it? For a man, for a young lad, to chase after everything in a skirt, to want to wet his wick with ‘em. But that I weren’t just limiting myself to the lasses… that I liked other lads too… for that…” Moran’s jaw tenses before he spits out in a harsh whisper, “ _I am an_ _abomination_.”

    “You are not an abomination, Sebastian.” Moriarty puts his hand to Moran’s cheek and gently turns his face towards him. “My boy, you are _not_ an abomination. You like your own sex as well as the so-called fairer sex and that is simply how it is. There is nothing wrong with that.”

    Moran looks into the professor’s eyes and Moriarty can feel him trembling slightly with barely suppressed hurt and fury. “He told me I must choose.”

    “Choose between what?”

    Moran laughs. “Between being an invert or being a normal red-blooded male, of course, or that was the gist of it at any rate. Course if I’d have not told him where to stick his choice, if I’d have told him I was _just_ an invert, he’d have hardly regarded me any differently. He’d still have tried to thrash it out of me all the same.”

     “My dear Moran.” Moriarty continues to gently caress Moran’s sides.

    “It’s all right, sir, I ain’t asking for pity.” Moran smiles weakly now. “But I am saying… I s’pose… that I know what it feels like to have someone try to deny a part of you, or to try to tell you you’re wrong for it, broken even, and insist you must change, and I’d never do that to you, Professor, ever.”

    “I know you wouldn’t, Sebastian, as I would never do that to you either.” Moriarty moves his hands to Moran’s back, drawing him a little closer, as Moran shifts his hands around Moriarty’s neck, cradling the back of his head in one hand.

    Moran gently lifts the professor’s chin up, without any force whatsoever, making sure that Moriarty is comfortable with the move before he inclines his head to press a soft kiss to the professor’s lips, a sweet, brief, closed-mouth kiss. When it is over Moran remains bent over with his forehead just touching Moriarty’s. “James,” he says. “I lo-like you as you are.”

    If Moriarty notices the brief instant where Moran trips over his words, coming so dangerously close to saying that word – _love_ – before managing to amend it (and he does notice, of course, for though the professor does not necessarily always understand some of the subtler signs and signals given off by his companion, he is always observant) then he chooses not to comment on it. “I like you just as you are also, Sebastian,” he says, and he now moves up to kiss Moran once again, just as softly as their former kiss, just as gentle – a gesture of affection between them; of deep regard, and of acceptance.


End file.
